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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24324253">i want you in my room (i don't care anymore)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/safeandsound13/pseuds/safeandsound13'>safeandsound13</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Roommates, Smut, Strip Tease, a brief but effective one i'd say, anyway this IS canon divergence but i honestly do not remember s5 well enough to, bc only nai would give me the tropes strip tease and sex with clothes on, be certain this is all correct but its fic so maybe dont pop any veins over it, but i prospered, bye, dont think too hard i guess, if you do youll end up like me and nobody wants that, in the loosest of terms, ive never played poker in my life so dont blame me for any inconsistencies, like its smut people, like legitimately post s4 my brain was like SeLf CaRe and i only remember bellarke reuniting, playing a game, post s4 but they all stay in the bunker, sex with clothes partially on, she loves to see me fail, so make of that what you will, we couldve had it all is what bellarkes tombstone will read, wouldnt wish it on my worst enemies, yu ping pong stay done done or sumn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:20:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,538</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24324253</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/safeandsound13/pseuds/safeandsound13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of a six year seperation, Clarke and Bellamy make it to the bunker. During a riot, they get locked in a room together and naturally, they decide on getting drunk and attempting a game of strip poker.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>275</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Bellarke smut, Non Anonymous TROPED Collection</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i want you in my room (i don't care anymore)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i originally wrote this for the chopped smut challenge but didn't finish it in time. nai give me these tropes and then i put the canonverse spin on it to make it more of a challenge for myself. </p><p>this fic is all delusional wish fullfillment since thinking about anything post 6x10 now gives me visceral stomach cramps and obviously theres not a single chance in any universe bellamy and clarke are ever going to end up together in canon or even alive so the theme probably should've been fantasy but KNOW this, we saw what was there and what was there was real. dont let anyone ever tell you otherwise. </p><p>song in title is want you in my room by carly rae jepsen STREAAAAAAAAAM</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Looks like you and me are gonna be roomies for the night,” Bellamy mutters, already draped over the bottom mattress of one of the bunk beds, one of his arms thrown over his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even if they’re dimmed by the thick concrete walls now, Clarke’s still on edge from the alarms blaring outside the room, a loud cacophony of mumbled pleas and indistinct disputes, the storm of heavy boots running down the hallway, sealing off sections of the bunker. “Your sister is a tyrant.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’d just finished a double med-bay shift and was eating a pathetic excuse for dinner with Miller and Niylah when the overhead lights started flashing and Bellamy appeared out of nowhere, suddenly pulling her up. They both knew she was still </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wanheda</span>
  </em>
  <span> to these people, Wonkru or not. She doesn’t exactly know where Niylah went, but they lost Nate somewhere in the hysteric crowd, and eventually the two of them were shoved into one of the sleeping quarters by a few guards. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe so,” he agrees, deadpan, not even bothering to look at her and take in the glare she’s throwing his way. “But that was the deal. We live, she rules.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ruins,” she corrects him, almost petulantly, starting to unlace her boots from her tired feet. They don’t know how long they’ll be stuck here</span>
  <em>
    <span> this</span>
  </em>
  <span> time, so she might as well get comfortable. “You mean we live, she ruins.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shrugs half-heartedly, dropping his arm to his side, watching her fingers work with lidded eyes. “You have to be honest, it feels kind of good, doesn’t it?” She meets his gaze with a quirked eyebrow, silently willing him to go on. “Not having to carry the weight of the world on our shoulders.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re not serious,” Clarke states dryly, pausing her movements. If anything, they’re both physically incapable of </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> feeling the responsibility of the survival of their people. Just because someone else</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>his sister</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>is refusing to give them a say, doesn’t mean it’s any easier for them to sit back on their hands and be quiet. They’ve had countless of conversations about how much they hate this, having to take a step back from everything, not even getting a seat on the council. They’ve planned entire failed coupes in secret, staged resistance meetings behind her back, drunkenly laughed on more than one occasion over what the fuck a ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Blodreina</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ is. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She guesses he’s just having a bad day. He looks tired; glazy look in his eyes, lazy drawl in his voice, his brown skin paler than usual. She misses the sun, she never appreciated it nearly enough when she could still feel it’s warmth on her skin. She’s tired too. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not our fault riots are coming more frequently and with fewer time to take a breath in between,” he bristles, and she knows he’s not really mad at </span>
  <em>
    <span>her. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He’s just frustrated with the situation, one that seems to get worse with each day that passes and they’re not even down to the halfway mark. There’s a huff of air, and if he could, he’d be glaring a hole into the ceiling, “What did she expect, throwing together twelve clans and telling them to be best friends or die?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke snorts, finally kicking off her second boot. She pushes her foot against his shin. Again, this is nothing new. They’ve been dealing with the consequences of his sister’s authoritarianism for the better part of two years now. This can’t be the sole reason he’s in such a foul mood. “You’re grumpy today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He doesn’t laugh, which is different from normal. He usually at least tries to placate her when she’s being unfunny. “We can be thrown in that fighting fit every other week for defying her, or we can stay quiet and learn.” There’s a defeated look in his eyes when he goes easy on the ceiling and turns to look at her this time, “It’s a bunker, princess. There’s nowhere to run.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her chest aches with anguish at the way he’s looking at her; sad and angry and </span>
  <em>
    <span>tired</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Twice now, has Octavia thrown him in the fighting pit. The first time was to make a point about her not pulling favorites, not even with her own flesh and blood, and hell, the second time is still a mystery to Clarke. Spite, maybe. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke’s been thrown in there herself once, barely survived defying the Red Queen. She still hears the echoes of the voices rooting against </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wanheda</span>
  </em>
  <span> at night, desperate, </span>
  <em>
    <span>excited </span>
  </em>
  <span>for her demise. She almost gave up, too, if it wasn’t for her friends in the crowd. If it wasn’t for seeing</span>
  <span>—it doesn’t matter now. It’s not the same for her as it is for him. It’s not like she and Octavia were ever really friends, they didn’t owe each other anything. He’s her brother, he sacrificed everything he is and had for her, and that should mean something more than hiding behind the stories he used to tell her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All of that is nothing compared to the look on his face during the aftermath of ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>you are Wonkru or you are the enemy of Wonkru</span>
  </em>
  <span>’. Their first year down here was horrific for a lot of reasons, and Clarke is probably selfish for thinking the worst of it was the heartbreak Bellamy went though, but it’s what still haunts her at night. She’s never seen him look so broken, so defeated, and she doesn’t think he’s been the same ever since. She thinks if it wasn’t for her, for their friends, he would’ve went down with the sister he used to know and love. Of course they’ve had countless of conversations about him not being to blame for his sisters mistakes, but most of them were futile. He’ll always feel responsible for her, it’s who he is. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Point is, she can understand it taking a toll on him. The riots aren’t the only things happening more frequent and with fewer time in between, so are their bad days. He’s right. There is nowhere to run in here, not even from their own thoughts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s ironic almost, this big, almighty bunker built to weather an apocalypse feeling like something as fragile as a powder keg most of the time. That that what’s saved them might be the very thing that kills them in the end. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I thought it would feel different, you know.” The corner of her mouth turns up weakly as she pulls her feet up on the mattress, crossing her legs as she throws him a wavering tight lipped smile. “Peace.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He lets out an abrupt, mirthless snort, wild curls moving against the pillow as he shakes his head lightly to himself, familiar frown appearing between his brows. “This isn’t peace, and the longer we’re down on earth, the more I realize we might be better of on our own.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s not wrong. Just last week, Octavia suggested starting to turn their dead bodies into rations. It was a close call, but Monty got the algae farm back to work just in time. Clarke’s not sure there would’ve been coming back from that one.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It has to be hard on him, looking at the person he raised and only finding a monster staring back at him. But she also knows that no matter what, he’ll always forgive her, he’ll always keep trying to see beyond the mask of blood she puts on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So what? You’re going to run off, leave your sister behind?” Clarke entertains his dark thoughts for a moment, lets herself think about it even. Sun in their hair, wind at their backs, telling their own damn story, sounds pretty good to her. Unfortunately it also sounds like a farfetched fantasy. “That doesn’t sound like you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shrugs, voice flat but sincere. “You can come with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>It should startle her, but it doesn’t. She kind of assumed he’d take her along anyway. It’s what they do. No matter what, they everything together. Even face the consequences in the hard light of day once they get out of here. She’s ran before, tried to outrun her ghosts and she knows that’s not what he wants, knows they always catch up with you. “It can’t be that easy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” he relents, a quiet mumble as he absentmindedly and slowly rubs his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. A deep sigh, and then he adds, longing, “I wish it could be.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s easy, to find herself wanting it. To escape, with him, and never look back. Then she remembers reality and figures they’ve been through too much to not see it through to the end now. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>needs</span>
  </em>
  <span> everything they’ve done not to be in vain. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Me too,” she admits after a beat, eyes soft on his side profile as she follows the slope of his nose, the downwards curve of his lips. She wants to make him feel better, like he can usually make her. She can’t change anything that’s happening with Octavia, but she can take his mind off of things. “There’s some cards. Want to play?’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tugs a bottle of moonshine from beneath the pillow he’s on top of, holding it up for her to admire. “I got a better idea.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke sits up a little, and maybe she should be more taken aback by how eager the thought of getting absolutely shitfaced during lockdown makes her feel. “How did you know that was there?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bellamy raises his eyebrows, skeptical, having rolled over and pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. “Monty and Harper bunk here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All the rooms look the same to her, especially when being shoved into one at random during a frenzy, but she guesses now she’s taking a second look around, she does recognize the hair scarf tied around one of the bars of the bed, and the log peeking out from the stack of books on the ground, used for notes on the water filtration system.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course they do,” she says, taking a swig from the bottle after he hands it to her, bitter taste in the back of her throat making her scrunch up her face. He smiles, faint, which she counts as a win, and then she holds up the deck of cards again. “Seriously though, we don’t know how long we’re going to be stuck here. She might beat last month’s record this time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Seventy-two hours?” He snorts, skeptical, but then gives in with a nod anyway, reaching over to smoothly move one of the storage chests to the space in between the lower bunk beds they’re sitting on, directly across from each other. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If so, it’s at least another forty-eight before she caves and supplies any water.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He starts to deal the cards, stifling a smirk. “An inevitable hangover seems better than being stuck in here with you completely sober.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Leaning forward on her knees with her elbows, she reaches out and pushes him in the shoulder, can only find it in herself to be half-offended when the dark cloud has finally started to lift from his gaze. “Please, let’s not pretend you wouldn’t trade Miller, Murphy and Emori’s sex noises, and that random Azgedian for me in a heartbeat.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know about that, princess,” Bellamy presses half-serious, and this time he does smirk, smug. “At least they don’t snore.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She jerks her cards off the table, sending him a hard glare. “I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>snore</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His smirk only grows, and she wants to punch it off. “You drool, too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” she mumbles stupidly, fighting a blush. It’s embarrassing enough that she somehow always ends up falling asleep on top of him in some way after long, boring meetings or early morning breakfasts. She just doesn’t get a lot of sleep, at night.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are we playing for?” Bellamy asks, voice gruff, putting the bottle to his lips and tossing his head back. With a hiss, he slams it back down on the worn brown leather of the storage chest. She can’t blame him when Monty’s moonshine tastes like bleach. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bragging rights,” she shrugs, eyes still fixed on her cards. She doesn’t really care about the specifics, just wants to take his mind off things.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sends her an unimpressed look. “Boring.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke rolls her eyes. “So what do you suggest, dickhead?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bellamy purses his lips, lifting one shoulder lazily as if he’s thinking it over before nonchalantly dropping the bomb, “We don’t have chips, so I suppose we could wager our clothes as an ante.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her head snaps up so fast to look at him, she’s surprised there isn’t a kink in her neck. His face is a blank slate, so she tries to keep any emotion out of her voice just to be sure, in case she’s misunderstanding and he’s just pulling a prank on her. A bad prank, but still. It would be embarrassing. “You suppose?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This time, there’s a challenge forming in his brown eyes. “What are you afraid of?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Time seems to slow, and her mouth feels dry, but Clarke refuses to swallow, refuses to be affected when he’s so — collected. Instead, her eyes narrow as she weighs her options and his possible angles. “You’ve had two sips, you can’t tell me you’re drunk already.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not drunk,” he agrees, grinning in a boyish way that makes her stomach flip. She’s reminded that she’s never seen </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> side of him, not really, not up close. There’s been flirting before, but never with purpose. She’s reminded of how many times she secretly wished she could be one of the girls in his bed. Is that what this is? She’s available and he’s horny so now he’s turning the bedroom eyes on her? She’s still deciding if that’s something she </span>
  <em>
    <span>likes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, when he adds, “But we could pretend, if you want.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If that makes it easier for her, he means. Her eyebrows jump, and her heat grows damp with a surge of arousal, and her heart pounds so loudly she’s surprised she can make out the sound of her own voice above it, how even she’s able to keep it, “You just want to see me naked, then?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He seems pleased she’s not backing down, and she feels stupid at how much it thrills her. “Maybe I just want you to see me naked.” He cocks an eyebrow, “Or are you already giving up?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Never one to back away from a challenge, Clarke scrapes her throat, grip tight on her cards. “Are you sure? At the very least, we’re going to be stuck here for two and half more years. This could ruin our—” It’s hard to put it into words, especially now they’re not actually leading anymore, not really, and don’t have any real reason to still be talking to each other when they have so little in common, so she settles on, “Friendship.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He rolls his eyes. “I’ve seen naked people before, you know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Clarke presses, averting her eyes as images of girl after girl coming from his tent in various states of undress flash in front of her eyes, trying to pretend her skin doesn’t feel tight from the heat simmering beneath it. “I’ve witnessed the aftermath of more of your threesomes than I’d like to admit.” She grimaces. “Or did you forget I was at the Dropship, too?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bellamy lets out a small huff, as if humoured, sitting back on the mattress with one hand supporting his weight behind him. “If you wanted to join, you could’ve just asked.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The lazy, casual tone to his voice has her on edge. She’s never liked it when he puts things on her. Like Bellamy’s hard edges and rough hands and some soft, pretty girl together wasn’t an image straight from the filthiest of her wet dreams. If he’s okay with the implications of this, then so is she. He’s not going to get her to crack. Feeling a little reckless, she snaps, “Pick up your cards, Blake.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not like there’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> there. There’s so many times she thought it might happen. The first day when they sealed the bunker, the day after once things had settled. Late nights spent drinking away their nightmares, early mornings waiting for her to get ready so they could walk to breakfast together. Hovering over blueprints and making stupid jokes, waking up with her head in his lap, shoulders pressed together at one of the mesh hall tables. That second time he was thrown in the pit, that whole day he spent by her side after some rogue Trikru grounder wanted to take her power and almost succeeded. Teasing her about her drawings, begging him to tell her another myth even though she was already half asleep, making sure she didn’t work too late. Thought that he might finally make a move, or she might finally get the courage to do it herself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But, it never did. And the longer it didn’t, the more she convinced herself that maybe he didn’t feel the same way. Not enough to want to risk it, anyway. What they had was good, and a small part of her thought that it could be </span>
  <em>
    <span>better</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but she hadn’t let herself think about at what cost yet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If he was willing to go there, though, she would be more than willing to go there with him. Even if it was just sex, just this once. They had done more fucked up stuff to each other that they had been able to get over faster than they should’ve. They are both pros at casual sex, so why </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> with each other? God knows Clarke has spent many hours of her life fantasizing about what it would be like, and now they’re here, with a room to themselves and he’s smiling at her like they could have it all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He smirks, reaching for the small stack on his side of the makeshift table and thankfully he doesn’t notice how her eyes follow his every move. “I nominate my shirt.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now, Clarke could do the same. She knows her bra-clad breasts could be a great distraction to win her at least a few rounds, but she doesn’t want to waste her best hand yet, not until she’s gotten a feel of his plan. So, she purses her lips, suddenly wishing she’d kept her socks on before deciding, “My pants.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a flop, and then a turn, and then the river, and then she’s got him beat. After all these years, he still underestimates her ability to have fun. She’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> at having fun. The best, even. Especially when the fun involves bluffing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Four of a kind, baby,” Clarke teases, laughter in her voice as she holds up her palm expectantly, watching him blink at her cards stupidly. “Pay up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tugs off his shirt with one hand at the back of his neck in that stupid way boys do, tossing it her way. It hits her in the face, but she still laughs loudly, giddy with victory as she takes another celebratory sip of the moonshine. Taking in his hard sore loser face she realizes maybe she does like this game after all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bellamy knocks back another swig after she offers him the bottle, nominating his boots next. She scrunches up her nose, watching him deal the next set of hands. “Not fair, you’re wearing more clothes than me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mouth twitches, and it makes annoyance flare up inside of her. “You this eager to get me naked?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke meets his gaze with a dark glare and he holds up the hand not holding his cards in defense, “Fine. Boots </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>socks.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looks cute; all creased brows and a hardset jaw and pursed lips and a faint blush of exertion on his cheeks, concentrating so intensely on the game in front of them, dead set on winning the next round, and in combination with all that smooth, brown skin on display, broad shoulders and flexing biceps and firm chest exposed just like that, maybe she allows herself to get distracted. Just a little. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh fuck yes,” he exclaims excitedly, spreading out his full house across from her two of a kind. Clarke blinks at the cards, as if someone it’ll change the outcome. When she finally slowly raises her gaze to meet his, there’s a twinkle in his eyes that she doesn’t get to see often, that makes her chest feel warm and her stupid heart skip a few beats. “Are you gonna give me a show?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She arches a brow, hands stilling on the button of her dark jeans. “What makes you think you deserve one?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A slow grin spreads across his face, like he knows he has her right where he wants her. “I know some really good ways to repay you later.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke’s breath hitches in the back of her throat as her eyes linger on his mouth, but she tries to hide it as she gets up from the bed slowly. She does a terrible job, because his grin only grows. Her knees feel shaky, but she manages to stand up straight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She starts swaying her hips lightly as she unpops the button at the front, turning around as she shimmies it down to her thighs, coyly looking at him over her shoulder. His eyes are mostly fixated on her ass though, knees spread as he leans back on both of his hands, taking her in with dark eyes. Does he have to look so fucking hot?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke turns back around, hoping to the powers of the universe that the damp spot on her boyshorts isn’t too obvious, shifting her pants down enough so she can start to step out of them. She’s still unhooking her pants from her right ankle — less graceful and more awkward than she’d like when she was going for sexy — when she’s suddenly pulled forward. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come here,” he murmurs impatiently, knocking the storage chest aside with one hand in an impressive display of strength, cards flying everywhere and bottle of moonshine clattering to the concrete floor loudly. Simultaneously tugging on her wrist with the other, he doesn’t stop until she’s standing in between his knees. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her fingers come up to rest on his shoulders as she looks down at him with slightly widened eyes, his hands smoothing their way down the back of her thighs comfortingly. The flirting, the game, stripping for him — it was all there in the implication, but this, </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> is different, this is them actually following through. And she can’t help but be a little nervous.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His gaze on hers is heavy though, too heavy to deny the way it makes her heart swell and her cunt ache and soon enough she doesn’t know if he leans up first or she leans down before that, but then she’s on top of him, knees on either side of his hips, their mouths pressed together. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s monumental, almost, the gentle but hurried way their lips move together. She suspected that if it ever were to happen, it would be like waves crashing on a rocky shore, desperate and needy. Instead it’s a pool of serenity, certainty, her hands running up and down his broad chest as his dip underneath the back of her henley and slide up the expanse of her smooth back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Experimentally, Clarke rolls her hips toward his, doing it again when she likes the guttural sound it draws from him, grinning against his mouth. He pulls her even closer, nipping her bottom lip before arching his head away from her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s seen a lot of his expressions — ones she wishes she never has to see again, others she’s spent hours trying to replicate on paper — but the hungry look in his brown eyes right now is destined to become her absolute favorite. All she can do is smile, breathing everything in. Him, mostly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One of Bellamy’s hand disappears off her back, moving to the front to grip at her breast through the material of her shirt and she has to bite down on her lip to keep from making an obscene noise. Heat rises from every part of her, screaming and tensing, so alive it makes all of this so much more real. Makes her all the more impatient.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His fingers move up to push her blonde hair off her shoulder and the shirt down enough to expose more of her creamy, flushed skin to him, pressing kisses to her clavicle before sinking his teeth into the muscle at the junction of her neck and shoulder. She can’t help the moan that escapes her this time when he smooths the sting with his tongue, the mark feeling like some sort of victory, one she wants to feel more of, wants to consume her completely. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke starts tugging on the bottom of her shirt, but he swats her hand away carefully, fitting his red mouth over hers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No time,” he breathes, explanatory, shoving aside her panties to push a finger inside of her and Clarke’s too busy gasping into his mouth to make the argument that this is probably the most time they’ll have together privately until the next riot breaks out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An arm wraps around his shoulders, pressing him closer to her chest in a desperate need for purchase as she tries to regain the breath he stole from her, finger pumping in and out of her at torturous pace. The breathiness of her words disturb the curls at his temple, “Octavia wasn’t the only thing frustrating you, huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hand stills, making her brow crease, and his tone is dry when he speaks, “Let’s not mention my sister right now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She just hums, too keyed up to argue with him, rolling her hips to urge him on. He adds another finger this time, kissing whatever part of her neck and chest he has access to. At least he agrees with part of her statement, explaining this sudden turn of events, “Got so sick of seeing you with Niylah,” he half-grunts, sucking on her pulsepoint almost meanly, sending a jolt of pleasure up her spine. “Couldn’t stop thinking about her touching you, kissing you—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re just roommates,” she cuts him off, fingers weaving into the curls at the back of his head, grinding against his hand unapologetically, gasping softly when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. Like he’s not in the mood to think about his sister right now, she’s even less so when it comes to her old fuckbuddy. Yet, she can’t help but tease, “And in fear of ruining the mood again, I think nowadays she’s more into your sis—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t,” Bellamy grumbles, fond exasperation and authority laced within his rough voice, before he nuzzles the side of her breast, then begins kissing his back up her neck, the scruff covering his jaw in stark contrast with his soft lips. Clarke splutters half a laugh at his tone, delighted and happy and she can’t seem to stop, just keeps laughing until he finally reaches her mouth again, capturing her lips with his own.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She whimpers at the sudden interruption, still kind of laughing when he pulls his wet fingers from her, reaching for her hips instead as he drags her forward not all too gently. She has to grip both of his shoulders to keep her balance, and then their eyes meet, and he’s kind of laughing too, and it’s just the best. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All the impossibly dark moments she’s shared with him, she thinks this small moment of laughing and wanting him and</span>
  <em>
    <span> light</span>
  </em>
  <span> is exactly what they deserve. She wants to remember this moment forever, saying nothing and everything at the same time. Breathless, pupils wide, the dim yellow lighting highlighting his perfect face. And then the distance between them quickly becomes unbearable, absolutely unforgivable, his fingers too warm and rough and perfect against the smooth skin of her thigh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He licks back into her mouth, dirty and sloppy, one of his big hands cupping her, just rubbing small circles over her underwear, not really enough to get her anywhere, but definitely making her want to do something about it. Clarke fumbles with his belt, and then the button on his pants, hands just shaking slightly from anticipation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She releases him finally, feeling him smirk against her lips at the little hum of frustration she let out at how long it was taking her, but it quickly disappears as she runs a hand beneath his hardness, instead replaced with a shaky breath. He’s hard, and warm, and impossibly big in her hand, and she’s never felt so excited.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was desperately close to an orgasm before, if the slickness dripping from her wasn’t enough proof, but she’ll gladly hold out for a few more minutes if it means settling the craving need to finally feel him inside of her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke rests her forehead against his as she pushes herself up on her knees a little, guiding him towards her hot centre. His eyes slam shut as she starts sinking down on him, and it’s been a while, so she takes him more than slowly. Once he’s sheathed inside of her completely, stretching her, his face relaxes a little and his eyes open to look at her, and they stay still just like that, breathing each other in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke’s hand comes up on the side of his neck, thumb settled over the dip in his chin, forefinger tracing the curve of his mouth as they hold each other’s gaze, both of them adjusting to the feel of each other. She licks her lips nervously at the sincerity she finds there, feeling the sudden urge to make sure he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> when she realizes she wants to keep finding it, when her earlier thoughts still plague her. Maybe this really is just a moment of need and convenience to him, but it’s more to her, and he deserves to know. “I wanted this for a long time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His face remains impassive, safe for the small crease in between his brows she wants to smooth away with a kiss. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t think I had to,” she starts, eyes fluttering shut, because it’s always been about more than words between them, maybe even more about the things they </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>say than they did, a connection she finds hard to explain even to this day. She sighs, frowning slightly, trying to make sense of the million and one excuses she’s come up with over the years, most of them boiling down to, “Timing was always off.” She raises her blue eyes to meet his again, voice only shaking slightly, “Why didn’t you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who says this isn’t the first time anything like this has crossed my mind?” He’s trying hard not to smirk, one hand gripping at her ass playfully, and there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes she hasn’t seen in a long time and she probably enjoys more than she should.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sends him a pointed look but then he shifts just slightly, causing her to gasp softly at the change of angle before her teeth sink down into her bottom lip, nails biting into the base of his neck. “Fuck,” he murmurs as she clenches around him involuntarily, eyes closing for a moment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mhmm,” she mutters, doing it again, this time on purpose, and he leans forward to nip at her jaw in retaliation before finding a sensitive spot beneath her ear, latching on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t want to ruin it,” he relents, quietly, lips moving against her skin and causing the hair at the back of her neck to stand up straight. “But here — like i said, there’s nowhere to run. There’s nothing to do here but wait out our time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She tries to pull back to get a better look at him, but his grip is too tight to escape. She lets out a soft frustrated huff, letting the skepticism filter into her voice instead, “So you’re bored?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s just teasing really. She knows what he means. It’s hard to escape each other here, like it’s hard to escape their feelings. Before, they always had something else to focus on, or they were ripped apart from each other. Now, there’s not many distractions, not many places to hide. Maybe they no longer have to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His fingertips dig into her hips underneath her shirt, hard enough to leave bruises. She wants him to. His breath is hot in her ear, “Do I feel bored to you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her pussy throbs almost uncomfortably at this point, her desire for him reaching a new height, and suddenly she thinks they can pick up this conversation at a later time, when they’re not otherwise preoccupied. “Bell—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know,” he coos, finding her lips with his for a short, soothing kiss, sound of his voice gruff and strained like he’s holding back as much as she is. “Move, baby. Take what you need.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke happily obliges, starting to grind forward and backward with him inside of her slowly. She’s always liked being on top, definitely likes how deep she can take him like this, loves watching him as she rides him, no matter how much it exerts her. It doesn’t take long for her skin to be covered in a layer of sweat and for his hips to start bucking up, so she kisses him, encouraging him to let go. He is safe with her, just as she is always safe with him. Bellamy starts fucking up into her in earnest, picking up the pace as he helps guide her up and down, building her up and sparking a slow warm feeling in her lower belly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Between the delectable drag of his cock inside of her, his mouth and tongue and teeth working her neck, and the torturous grind of his pubic bone against her clit, Clarke feels her mind drift away. She becomes pure sensation, all she can feel is him and her in this moment, feeling so good after spending so long thinking, denying with her brain everything that her heart knows and wants. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bellamy reaches between them to push her panties further aside, running his finger over her clit in small, tight circles. She’s so close, she can grasp it, fingers digging into his shoulders as their bodies and mouths meet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her cunt clenches around him as she takes a hold of the feeling and stars burst behind her eyes, drawing him in further, making him grunt a string of low curses. She feels his cock swell inside of her, his warmth leaking from him as he comes. She helps him come back down as she presses soft kisses to his nose, his cheekbone, rubs her cheek against his because she quite enjoys the slight sting of his rough scruff. “I just need </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you know that, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes flutter shut as he sighs. It’s not one of resignation with whatever life on the ground throws at them next, or aggravation at her stubbornness, or frustration with one of her many flaws or mistakes. This time it’s a sigh of contentment. She loves being able to draw those from him too, that she can provide as much love and pleasure and support for him as he deserves. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know.” He squeezes her hip, both as a reassurement and signaling for her to get off.  She lifts off him with a small hiss, sliding her panties back in place before dropping on the bed beside him. He’s tucked himself back in his pants without her even noticing, his shoulder knocking into hers softly. He ducks his head, avoiding her gaze as he quietly admits, “But I like hearing you say it sometimes, too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, Bellamy Blake,” she starts off, teasingly, emphasizing his name, wrapping her fingers around the elbow closest to his, nosing his shoulder. “I need you.” Her hand slides over to his chest, trailing down slowly as her heads lolls enough to the side for him to catch her eye and taunting smile. “I want you, all the time.” Her fingers stop on top of his lower belly, splaying across the smooth skin there instead of moving further down, and her smile fades, just a little, suddenly feeling shy and vulnerable and brave in spite of all her fears. “I love you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The surprise on his face makes her chest ache with something fierce, but then it dims, and he’s pressing his lips against her, softly. “I love you too.” He peeks through one eye, biting down on his lip briefly as if to keep from laughing. “Despite the fact you really suck at stripping.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She smacks him in the stomach, hard, even though he barely flinches, just meets her with bold, happy laughter. Clarke sends him a challenging look as he catches her hand with his, interlacing their fingers. “If I sucked so badly, then why did you practically pounce on me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His free hand slides on top of her bare thigh, squeezing it tightly. “I wanted to save you the embarrassment.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She rolls her eyes, faux-swooning, “My hero.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re definitely sexier when you’re not trying so hard.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She shifts her head on top of his shoulder so she can see his face, her cheeks feeling warm. “Yeah?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mhm,” he agrees, leaning down to meet her for a short kiss, hand moving up her thigh just a few inches. He rubs his nose against hers after he pulls away, brown eyes so intent on hers it makes her chest ache in the best of ways, “Want you all the time, too, princess.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A comfortable quietness falls over them for just a moment, her cheek pressed against the juncture of his neck and shoulder, his thumb rubbing over the back of her hand, his chest falling and rising with steady, comforting breaths that ground her, just enjoying being close to each other. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I would take you with me too, you know,” she confesses to the empty bed across from her, deciding he should hear. If she were to leave this place, give up on all their people, never look back — she’d only do it if he was at her side.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She feels him chuckle more than she hears it. “Maybe we should’ve taken Raven up on that offer to go to space instead.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke can’t keep the skepticism out of her voice, “And miss out on just barely preventing cannibalism from making it onto our lunch menu?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re right,” he agrees, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head before resting his chin there. “But if all roads lead us here, I don’t have any regrets.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t matter what could have been, what different choices they could have made not to end up here. Somehow, something always goes wrong and life throws them a curveball one way or another. That’s life on earth. Clarke knows that for him, it’s the same as for her, that even though they don’t have any control over what happens, they have control over who’s by their side through it all. And when it comes to the person at her side, no matter what, she’s happy with the decision she’s made. “Me neither.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>if this this is my last ever bellarke fic, its been swell sisters! considering bellarkes a mental illness classified in the dsm-5 under trauma related disorders i wouldnt count on it, but just in case.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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